All Good Things We've Done
by setthingsinmotion
Summary: Set in Mockingjay before the epilogue: "One can't help the family they're born into and yet I can't help but wonder if me falling in love with Peeta might have been the universes way of doing justice."


**This is my first Hunger Games fanfic ever. I admit, I'm equally excited and scared to share it with you guys. I've read so many great fanfics about Everlark and Gale that I just wanted to give it a shot. Be warned: I've read the books and seen the movies but I'm far from being an expert. So criticism is greatly appreciated.**

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 **All Good Things We've Done**

One of the main reasons why Mrs Mellark didn't like me surely had something to do with me being my mother's daughter. A reason for which I surely could not be judged – one can't help the family they're born into and yet I can't help but wonder if me falling in love with Peeta might have been the universes way of doing justice.

It's not that people from the Seam mustn't marry Merchants; it's more about Merchants not wanting to marry people from 'the dark side of town.'

Sometimes unwritten laws are even harder to swallow than 1,000 lashes burning your skin.

When my mother chose the love of her life over her best friend, she chose love over carefreeness. I'd like to draw the picture of a strong, young girl who knew what she was signing for but the truth is that love had made her blind and reckless. I'm sure she had her moments of doubt, maybe even regret – it would one be a human reaction. Other than Peeta, my mother's the most human individual I've ever known. I don't remember her complain or frown though. All I remember is her bright smile reddening her cheeks, reaching from one ear to the other. Instead of bread or meat, she had her belly filled with the sweetest butterflies imaginable.

This is how I want to remember her, it's the perspective I chose, so I can face a present without her by my side.

Sometimes, when I see the shadow of an early day playing hide and seek in our living room, I see my father twirling my mother around without a single care in the world – even though his back hurts and she's been looking after patients all night long.

It's a beautiful imagine; one I haven't even told Peeta about. I don't want him to get sad as thoughts of my mother have a direct connection to all the beautiful moments he got to share with his dad. I believe being aware of his father having to live with a broken heart hurt more than his mother's fist on his angelic face, all because he came after his father and was hopelessly in love with a Seam girl who didn't believe in love.

I feel his arms around me before I hear him. Loving him has made me reckless. With him there's no reason to be on guard. We're a ridiculous bundle of sugar coated happiness. I smile against his neck, rub my nose over the velvetiness that is his skin and inhale his scent, just to make sure being here with him isn't just a dream I'm going to be having to say goodbye to as the new day greets. It's a dream come true. A dream I never knew I had dreamed.

"What are you smiling about?"

My smile grows even larger. It's the game we've been playing for almost as long as _real or not real._ Why Peeta still needs to figure out what makes me happy is beyond me – it's always him and the life we've built together. The sheer acceptance of my own feelings makes me happy.

"If you have to know, Mr" I say, trying to free his shirt of an imaginary fuzz. "I've been thinking about selling your scent as an aftershave." The look my husband's giving me in return is priceless – his eyebrow's risen high, his lips fighting against the smile that's creeping upon his handsome face. He's far too naïve to see the effect he has on people. The old Capitol used to create fame and break it, however and whenever they pleased. Fame makes attraction. Attraction leads to jealousy. Unlike me, Peeta was meant to be a superstar. And it wasn't Snow who made him and even the tale of the _star crossed lovers_ – that fuelled every woman's dream – pushed aside, it was all Peeta: his voice, the words he chose so eloquently weren't written at the Capitol. Those words had come to Peeta, it was him, he was true. The purest, truest thing the districts had ever seen. That's what makes him desirable: His ability to paint a hopeful truth. "You don't look convinced."

"Of course not, who'd want to smell of flour and sweat?"

If I was asked what I love most about Peeta, his modesty would be a sure #3 candidate. It's a good thing I'm a total disaster in the kitchen department – every woman of every age worships the ground Peeta walks on. I hate them even though I know none of them has had Peeta the way I do, both physically and emotionally and still, it bothers me that all of them saw something in him, long before I allowed myself to. "Well played, if you really don't want to step into perfume making, there'll be more of this for me."

I'm not the world's most joyful person to be around. Even before the revolution, the closest I had come to laughing had been a half-hearted curve up of my lips; until Peeta.

"Enough sweet-talking, Katniss. I know what you're after." He has a hard time hiding the chuckle building in his chest.

I, Katniss Mellark, the Mockingjay, the fighter, the ruthless killer can make someone chuckle in amusement. "I don't know what you're talking about. I meant what I said, it's just still unusual for me to be so vocal about it. Unless…

I let Peeta drag me to the kitchen. My ears yearn to hear the familiar sound of a frizzing pan but there's nothing waiting for me except the ear-picking whistle of my Grandmother's old teakettle. I've never liked it – the flowery pink and orange ornaments are too cheery for my liking.

Two cups of steaming tea are standing between us, Peeta's intense eyes on my face. As he speaks, I am once again reminded that he can read my soul: "I assumed you and Gale would want to go out hunting squirrels and cook them over a bonfire." He's neither ironic nor bitter, just stating a fact, like me last week when I knew he'd be spending the evening with Delly. They are best friends after all.

I nod as the steam grazes my already heated cheeks. "What are you going to tell your former best friend?"

"There's not much to say really. I'm in love with you and I don't love him." I can see Peeta's features contradicting in pain; my blood's boiling and I want to scream at my husband. For ruining our Sunday-routine, for keeping sentimental nonsense like the teakettle, but mostly for still feeling threatened by a man who never even had the smallest chance at winning my heart. Can't he tell I'm not lying anymore?

"What?" I snap. This is Katniss Everdeen, not Mrs Mellark coming to the surface, the Katniss with venom in her every word and bitterness filling her heart caused by no matter what she does, her past mistakes are already waiting in the dark.

"It's nothing, really. Forget I ever said anything. Can I get you some more tea?"

The warm liquid warms my hand as I take another sip. Maybe this teakettle isn't that awful. I glance up and see Peeta's lips curving up into a knowing smile. He knows I won't admit it but the kettle's is going to be having a long life in this household.

My anger subsides and morphs into something more consuming: fear. Fear that my childish reaction might have sent the wrong image; but for the millionth time, I once again am in awe of my husband's reaction. He's kneeling before me, one hand lovingly placed on my cheek. How can a man like him love someone as imperfect as me?

"Do you love Haymitch?"

I crunch my nose in a small attempt to be funny. Haymitch's the closest I have to a father; he walked me down the aisle. "Yes" I say.

"What about Effie, do you love her?"

Effie Trinket's one of a kind. Every hug she gives every smile screams of love. How could I not love her? "Yes" I answer truthfully, still curious where Peeta's going with this.

"What about Annie and little Finnick?"

"Yes…and yes…What's all the quizzing, Peeta? You know I've been able to tell people I love them for quite some time now." The overwhelming fear of losing them doesn't paralyze me anymore; I've accepted that, at one moment in time, it's going to be inevitable.

"Do you love me?"

His eyes are made of such a clear blue I could dive in and drown; I cast my eyes downwards, thinking about how much he's changed. He's starting to lose his boyish looks, his cheekbones are more defined – but whenever I look into his eyes, I see my boy with the bread as well as the man who asked me to marry him. I knew it when just like I know it now: Peeta wouldn't have asked for my hand, if he wasn't completely sure that I loved him – loved him more than anything. We don't need poetic speeches of which, Peeta's well aware I suck in comparison to him, so all I whisper is: "I'd die for you."

My face heats up and I know the familiar blush's creeping up my features: Peeta's forehead feels cool against mine. "I just feel like…I did not only lose my sister during the attack but my older brother as well. I lost them both." My words are bubbling up my scratchy throat; I have thought so hard to keep them locked away.

Where Haymitch and Effie have been parental figures and Annie became my sister at heart, Gale Hawthorne had always been my brother. He still is. That's why not having him around hurts so bad. A part of me wanted him to attend my wedding. He used to be a part of the family. But I didn't have the courage to call, let alone, face him. Even if it hadn't been one of his bombs that killed my own flesh and blood. It would have been unnecessarily cruel and selfish to make him watch me and Peeta.

I'm not selfish anymore.

This essential seam-ish attitude I have put to rest since being Mrs Mellark. "I can't believe he has agreed to meet me." I choke out, still caught in the haze of my realization. I love Gale, that's why I could choose to hate him.

He needed to be protected from me and my happiness. Maybe I really am changing for the better.

"That's the thing, Katniss…" Peeta's pulling away from me; slowly, as if not to encourage my temper. _Why's he pulling away from me?_ "But you've told me…" I'm too surprised to be hurt. Peeta wouldn't lie to me.

"He agreed to meet me in the woods." His voice isn't wavering or quiet, it's as firm and soft as always. I can't do anything but stare at him; now it's his cheeks wearing the colour of a rose. "But I want you to go."

"Why?" I hear myself asking. "Why do you think this will work? Why have you done that and what made you think Gale and I needed to talk?" _Okay, scratch the last question._

"I knew you wanted by your side as the wedding came closer, so I invited him."

I don't need him to vocalize the obvious because even Peeta's most beautiful words wouldn't have me believe in Gale's 'no' to have been reserved but polite. I know him better than that. He's from The Seam and does not care about non Seams; even the rebellion couldn't change that.

To him, I'm a whore, a slut. Not because I chose Peeta. He knows me well enough; I'd never sell my body. I'm a slut because I tricked him – into loving me, fighting with and for me but mostly for making him believe I actually chose Peeta for rational reasons; for making him believe there actually was a competition. I don't blame him – from where he's standing, he's right. He doesn't know better just like it does not matter that I did not either.

I give Peeta a thankful smile for being his naturally thoughtful self.

"So, I wrote him another letter because I felt like there's a story he needs to hear."

Peeta looks at me with obvious confidence, a teasing smile giving away how much fun he's having. There is nothing more beautiful in this world than Peeta's smile. "Then I thought, he'd better hear it coming from you." He finally stands up and this millisecond is all I need to feel like a selfish brat. I can't even imagine how much his prosthetic leg must hurt now. I know it does as I can see his right eyebrow twitch in pain but he remains silent as he goes back to take the seat across from mine, enjoying another cup of tea.

"You haven't got a clue what I'm talking about, am I right?"

I nod, not knowing what else to do.

He thinks I don't notice the shaky gulp of air he's forcing out of his lungs. Sometimes, at night, I lay awake checking the regularity of his breathing. He doesn't know about this either. Even though it might be justified by our past to act strange and be clingy, it's something I'd prefer to keep a secret.

"Take a look at this."

I admit, I haven't seen many photographs in my life. Before the rebellion they were pure luxury and certainly nothing my family could have afforded. As children, we were told about photographs in colour and parents happily freezing every step of their children growing up in time.

Four pictures in sad black and white – one for each member of the Everdeen-family. That's all I have left. To me, they're even more beautiful than the most colourful rainbow.

As cliché as it might be and as much as it doesn't sound like me at all: I'm glad. Glad that I've made it this far. The only coloured photo I've ever held in my hands is of me and Peeta, taken at our wedding.

I still can't believe I own such a treasure.

"Here, I wanted to show you something…" For the first time in years, I hear uncertainty in Peeta's voice and even though I don't know its cause, I feel like I've travelled back in time. The only person that made Peeta's voice lack confidence was mine and…

I hold my breath…

His mother…

Mrs Mellark. The woman I hate more than I can tell. Even though Peeta keeps reminding me that hate doesn't work as a solution to our problems, I can't help but hate her. I'm sorry that Peeta had to lose her and the rest of his family but I'm not sorry that she can't hurt him anymore.

There's a photograph lying on our kitchen table, illuminated by the rising sun of an early summer morning and I don't dare touch it. My motions are made of caution; it's like I'm waiting to be attacked. But what, I have no idea. Emotions? Answers I never knew I needed?

With wary eyes, I dare myself to take a closer look and hold my breath once again.

The photo shows a young Mrs Mellark and her husband smiling and hand holding. She looks like the happiest woman on the planet and Mr Mellark…you can tell he's smitten by the woman in his arms.

"Do you think my mother knew how much she was loved, Katniss?"

I look at the man beside me. My husband, my love, my light, my everything and understanding is settling in.

"I don't think so" I answer truthfully. "But I'll make sure that those ghosts of the past won't be haunting Gale forever."

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 **I can't believe it has taken me months to get this finished. The last page was really pulling a nerve on me. I had it all played out in my head but the words wouldn't make sense on the paper. I originally had planned the moment of understanding to be longer but then I thought it might be a little too much and would take away the story's hopefully subtle note. To me, Gales character and his doing in Prim's death is a philosophical question and that's why I decided to write a subtle ending to this. I hope the message's still as clear on paper as it was in my head. Anyways, I really enjoyed diving deeper into this fandom and the character's family backstory. I'd love to hear from you guys. Thanks for reading! -** _ **setthingsinmotion**_


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